


Merlin's Nutcracker

by thenerdyindividual



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Adventure & Romance, Alternate Universe - Fusion, BAMF Merlin (Merlin), Dancing, Exactly What It Says on the Tin, Fairies, Fairies Ship It, Identity Reveal, Inspired by Barbie in The Nutcracker (2001), M/M, Merlin's Magic Revealed (Merlin), POV Merlin (Merlin), True Love's Kiss, Witch Curses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:07:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 20,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28269615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thenerdyindividual/pseuds/thenerdyindividual
Summary: For Christmas, Gwaine gives Merlin an old battered Nutcracker. So ensues an adventure in a land of magic where mice walk on two legs, Queen Morgana rules the land with an iron fist, and there is a mysterious missing prince.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 22
Kudos: 79





	1. Chapter 1

“Mice have gotten into the Christmas boxes again.” His mother sighs softly, and holds one of the gingerbread ornaments aloft. 

Merlin grimaces at the gnawed off leg and pokes his nose into the box his mother balances on her hip and those don’t seem to have held up any better than the gingerbread man. There isn’t much to be done. It’s not like they have the time or money to make new ones, not on Christmas Eve. They have yet to discover a way to keep the mice out of the Christmas boxes, although Merlin secretly thinks not storing them in Uncle Gaius’s old drafty attic would probably be a good start. He has coat closet that is practically empty.

He offers his mother what he hopes is a cheerful smile and shrugs, “It gives the tree more character.”

His mother shakes her head fondly and sets the box on the sofa. She wipes her hands off on her apron and smooths out the shoulders of Merlin’s shirt. There was only family here tonight so he left it at waist coat and shirt for dinner. It’s Christmas Eve; he wants to be comfortable, not fancy.

“I’m leaving the tree decorating in your capable hands while I help Gaius with the turkey.” She says with a little smile, “Don’t let Will break the few ornaments we have left.”

At that moment, Will steps into the sitting room, and he makes an over exaggerated offended face, “Mrs. Greene, I’ve never broken an ornament. It was always Merlin.”

“Will, it’s Hunith. When you call me Mrs. Greene, I think you’re talking about my mother, and you’re practically family.” His mother says firmly, in her no nonsense way that means no one can argue with her pronouncement, not even Will.

“Sorry,” Will says sheepishly, “I get used to calling the folks up in the big house by their surnames and I bring it home.”

“That’s perfectly alright.” She says mildly, “Now, you two finish decorating while I go prevent Uncle Gaius from doing something silly with the turkey.”

With that she sweeps from the room. The second she’s gone, Merlin turns and sticks his tongue out at Will. They may be grown men now, but that does not stop them from reverting back to six year olds as soon as they are out of sight of Merlin’s Mother.

“Thank you so much for telling my mother that I’m responsible for all ornament damage growing up.” Merlin says, snarky.

Will grins back unrepentant, “Well most of them were your fault. You have been clumsy since we were kids.”

“I don’t know why you keep getting invited to family Christmas.” Merlin grumbles, “You’re the worst.”

“I think Hunith and Uncle Gaius feel for my condition.”

“What condition is that? Smelly feet from working in the fields all day?”

“You’re so clever.” Will replies flatly, “I think they feel bad that I haven’t got any family left.”

Merlin instantly feels guilty. He knows how rough this time of year can be for Will. Much like Merlin, he grew up without a father, although Mr. Farmer at least made an honest woman out of Will’s mother before he went off and died in war. Mrs. Farmer was never quite the same after that, and Will spent most of his years growing up taking care of her instead of the other way around. Mrs. Farmer died five years ago, and the only good thing to come out of it was that Will was old enough and had already started work up at Ealdor House, and was therefore spared a stint in a work house. She passed right before Christmas.

He slings an arm around Will’s shoulders and presses a kiss to his temple, “Hey. You know you’re welcome any time. You’re practically my brother.”

“I know. Come on. Better finish the tree.” Will says, pushing Merlin away lightly. 

They unearth the few glass ornaments that Merlin’s family actually owns and set them out on the sofa cushions so as to get a better look at them. One by one the colorful glass baubles go up on the branches. It may not be as grand as the Christmas trees in London, or even the one up at the big house, but it’s theirs. That’s what matters. 

Will passes over the last one, “I know you always hang this one.”

Merlin cradles the little ballerina in his hand, careful not to drop it. Back when his mother was young, before she ‘let that dreadful Balinor make a fallen woman of her’, Merlin’s grandfather had a bit of money. He'd taken her to see the ballet and bought her the ornament as a token. It was Merlin’s favorite growing up, a reminder of a world so very far away from farms. 

He still appreciates the wonder it holds, but he is secretly glad he never met his grandfather. He sounded like a cold disapproving man, and Merlin grew up with his grandfather’s brother instead. Uncle Gaius is all the grandfather he needs.

He slips the ballerina into the branches of the tree and steps back to admire his and Will’s handiwork. The amputated gingerbread people do look a little silly against the few fine ornaments, but really what is life without a silliness in it? 

There’s a knock at the door and Gaius’s voice resounds from the little kitchen just on the other side of the wall from the sitting room, “I thought we were all here! Who could that be this close to Christmas dinner?”

Merlin shares an eye roll with Will. God himself could interrupt Gaius’s perfectly laid out plans and Gaius would still complain about it. Both of them have more than once suffered the disapproving eyebrow growing up, and even now it still gets them to jump into action at moment’s notice.

“I’ll answer it!” Merlin calls before Gaius can start shuffling his way to the door.

He steps from the sitting room into the entry area of Gaius’s house, feeling the chill creep in from the little gap between the door and the front doorframe. He’ll need to fix that soon or even the fire won’t be enough to keep the rest of the house warm. He opens the door and is met with a familiar grin. 

“Gwaine!” Merlin exclaims in surprise and steps aside to let his cousin inside.  
“Merlin!” Gwaine says with equal enthusiasm, steps in, and shakes the snow from his coat and over-long hair. Merlin happens to think it looks fashionable, but Gaius will probably raise an eyebrow at the showiness, and if Gaius shows mild disapproval, no doubt Gwaine’s mother will pitch a proper hysterical fit over it. Merlin is convinced that that is partly the reason that Gwaine wears it in such a style anyway. Even acknowledging his bastard cousin is enough to cause scandal. Merlin would be offended if Gwaine wasn’t also a genuinely kind person, and didn’t also get on with Merlin like a house on fire. 

“I didn’t think you were coming this year.”

“What? And miss a chance at a Greene Family Christmas?” Gwaine asks and pulls the door shut behind him. 

“And your mother and sister won’t have a word or two to say about this?” Merlin teases as Gwaine hangs his coat on the peg in the entry. 

Gwaine shrugs, unconcerned, “I think they prefer it this way if I’m honest. The further I stay away from home, the easier it is for me to avoid bringing shame to the memory of my father and our grandfather.”

“I think my existence is enough for that.” Merlin points out wryly, “You didn’t write to tell us you were coming.”

“I wasn’t sure I was going to make it.” Gwaine admits as he wanders after Merlin into the kitchen where Merlin’s mother, Uncle Gaius, and Will are all clustered around the scarred wooden table waiting for the turkey to finish cooking, “I was almost out of pocket money so I had to take a risky gamble to earn some more to fund my adventures. Then my train out of Prague was delayed. Was a right mess. Hello Aunt Hunith, Uncle Gaius.”

Merlin’s mother beams at Gwaine and rises from her seat to kiss him on the cheek, “It is good to see you, Gwaine. You’re just in time for dinner. You can share all your tales over Christmas turkey.”

*

“Then he asked me to dance.” Gwaine says, sagging back against the sofa with a warm cup of cider cradled in his hands.

Merlin snorts, “Apparently he doesn’t know what a terrible dancer you are.”

“Excuse you, I am a wonderful dancer.” Gwaine says indignantly. 

“Last time you were here, we went to a dance at the big house and you stepped all over everyone’s feet.” Merlin teases, “Go on then. What did you say to him?”

“Well, I couldn’t say no to the king.”

“I wish I could have been there to see the look on his face when you tripped him up.”

Gwaine glances over his shoulder at the kitchen where Merlin’s mother and their Uncle Gaius are still eating their second slice of Christmas cake, then leans in close so as not to be overheard, “Maybe next time you can come with me. What do you say, eh? Two young men setting out to seek their fortunes.”

“You know I can’t. Someone has to stay and help take care of Gaius.” Merlin says softly, also glancing to make sure that no one can overhear. 

“Can’t your mother and Will take care of him?”

“Will works all day in the fields, and my mother spends all day in the big house. I’m the only one.”

Gwaine sighs, looking a bit defeated, “Ah, well. Can’t blame me for trying. May as well give you your Christmas gift.”

“I didn’t get you anything.” Merlin points out, but Gwaine has already disappeared into the entry way to dig through his coat pockets. He returns with two wrapped packages, and Will chooses that moment to mysteriously wake from his post Christmas dinner nap. 

Gwaine passes Merlin one of the packages, and looks at him expectantly. Merlin rolls his eyes, but slips the ribbon from the box and opens it. Inside is a wooden nutcracker. It has a sword at its side, and its torso is painted to look like a red tunic with a gold dragon lays over the top of armor. Under one arm it holds a helmet with a visor. It looks like it once had paint for its hair that was meant to be blonde, and eyes that were sparkling blue.

“Sorry that it’s a bit busted,” Gwaine says, “but the shop keeper assured me that inside beats the heart of a prince. I thought you could add it to the little pile of trinkets you have in your room. Careful with his arm, I don’t know how well it’s attached.”

Merlin lifts it carefully from its box to admire it more closely. Even with the faded paint and loose arm, it’s still the best gift he’s ever been given. He grins at Gwaine and pulls him into a hug. They pull apart after a moment and Merlin goes back to gazing at his nutcracker.

“Where did you find it?”

“A little second hand shop in Belgium. I went in to sell a watch I won in a poker game and when I saw it I thought of you.”

“Thank you, Gwaine. I love it.”

“How come you never get me anything sentimental like that?” Will asks.

Gwaine tosses Will his gift, “Because you’re the least sentimental person I know. I assume the usual bottle of whiskey is a good enough gift?”

“I knew there was a reason you were my favorite cousin of Merlin’s.” Will says cheerfully and unwraps his gift as well.

Merlin’s mother drifts back in from the kitchen and makes little shooing motions with her hands, “Off to bed with you all. Otherwise Father Christmas won’t visit.”

“Come on,” Merlin says to Gwaine, “You can take my room.”

“I don’t want to kick you out of bed.” 

“It’s fine. I sleep better on the sofa anyway. Just let me get some clothes out of the drawers before you go to sleep.”

“Where are your mother and Will sleeping?”

“Will usually sleeps in the kitchen, and my mother takes Gaius’s study.” Merlin explains already leading his way up the rickety stairs to the second floor where his bedroom, Gaius’s bedroom, and the study are, “You’re not putting anyone out.”

“As long as you’re sure.”

“I am.” Merlin promises.

*

Merlin tugs his sweater straight so it isn’t strangling him in his sleep and stretches out on the sofa. Normally, he would change into his regular sleep clothes, but Will and Gwaine have a tendency to bound in on Christmas morning, and he won’t have a chance to change into actual clothes sleeping down here. He adjusts the cushion under his head until he gets it into a shape that doesn’t make his neck cramp, and settles in. He spares one last smile for the nutcracker standing proudly on the side table, and closes his eyes. He settles into a deep dreamless sleep. 

He isn’t sure what wakes him. At first he thinks it might be Gaius’s fancy clock chiming midnight, but as he’s rolling over to settle into sleep, something else catches his attention. Squeaking. Lots of it. He sits up with a jolt, and groans with exasperation at the sight of a mouse perched on Will’s dirty plate that he forgot to clear. 

“Get away from there.” He hisses and waves his hand at the mouse. The mouse startles, drops the crumb it was holding and scampers off the table. It takes a moment to register that when he went to sleep, his nutcracker had been standing right by that dirty plate and now it’s gone.

Merlin stares at the empty spot blankly, still half asleep, trying to figure out where a nutcracker could have wandered off to given that it isn’t sentient. 

“It’s time I turned you into something more useful,” a cold female voice rings out, and Merlin snaps his head around to in the direction it came from, “like kindling.”

Merlin rubs the sleep from his eyes, convinced they are playing tricks on him. When he opens them once more, he is shocked to find the vision still there. A woman about the size of a nutcracker stands surrounded by an army of mice in armor. Her black hair is pinned back from her face in an elaborate style, her black dress swirls around her in a wind that only she can feel. She swings a tiny axe menacingly in her hand. In front of her stands Merlin’s Nutcracker. He has his sword held in the hand on his uninjured arm, and glares at her defiantly, or as defiantly as a wooden man with painted features can get.

Before he can really think about what he’s doing, he unearths his shoe from under the sofa and leaps to his feet, intent on squishing the tiny woman then and there in order to save his nutcracker. He approaches slowly, trying to be sneaky, but to no avail. One of the woman’s mouse guards lets out a startled squeak, and the woman turns to face Merlin. He hears a voice shout, “watch out”, and has just enough time to think ‘I thought she was carrying an axe, not a scepter’, and then a beam of red swirling light hits him in the chest. 

His shoe tumbles from his hand, landing to the side with a loud thud. All around him, the room grows. The sofa gets big enough to sit a giant comfortably. The mice and tiny woman grow larger as well, growing to be the same size as Merlin. To his horror, he realizes that nothing is getting bigger, he’s simply shrinking to the size of a mouse.

He stands eye to eye with the tiny woman, noticing for the first time just how mad and cold her eyes are up close. She takes a menacing step forward, and Merlin stumbles back a step despite having several centimeters on her in height. 

“This is not good.”

“Not so brave now, are you?” the tiny woman says with a pleased smirk. 

A hand clasps in the back of Merlin’s sweater and yanks him back, and the person who grabbed him hisses a very irritated “idiot” as he goes. Merlin finds himself standing behind his nutcracker, and the situation is so ridiculous that he nearly bursts out laughing. He was just rescued from a tiny witch by a wooden man. It sounds like something out of a children’s story.

“Can you get up to the mantle?” his nutcracker asks over his shoulder.

“There is no way,” Merlin starts to protest then notices the mouse guards solely closing in on them, “I’m staying down here.”

He makes a break for the fire place. He blesses whatever made his mother decide to cobble together an attempt at a garland this year. If he tried to climb the grate, he’d probably burn his hands. He’d done it before when he was full size. He leaps at the garland, and clings onto it for dear life. Below him, three mouse guards run after him, and Merlin doesn’t wait a second more before hauling himself further up the garland. 

He hears a mad cackle, and when he turns his head, he finds Nutcracker halfway up the other side of the garland with the tiny witch on his heels. He only has one arm to climb with, and she is gaining on him rapidly. Merlin glances around, desperate to find a solution to the problem. He finds it in the loose nail poking out of the mantle. It was another project he meant to fix for Gaius so they didn’t inadvertently set their drying laundry on fire. He’s relieved that he hadn’t fixed it just yet.

He shuffles around on his end of the Garland, and kicks off the wall next to the fireplace. The nail jiggles a bit with the motion and Merlin repeats the action, swinging sideways away from the fireplace. On his third attempt, the nail comes loose. Merlin’s end of the garland swings across the fireplace with the momentum he’s built up, and his feet collide with the tiny witch’s chest. She lets out a cry of pain and goes sailing across the sitting room to crash painfully against the leg of the sofa.

Merlin’s grip on the garland starts to come loose, but a familiar hand grabs him by the back of the sweater. He looks up and finds Nutcracker holding him tight with his good arm. The only thing preventing them from both tumbling to a painful crash on the wooden floor below is the fact that Nutcracker somehow got his legs tangled in the garland itself. Merlin drops his gaze and struggles forward until he is holding firmly to the garland just below Nutcracker.

Below them, the tiny witch struggles to her feet. He mouse guards are there instantly, draping her arms over their shoulders. Merlin has to wonder if mice have shoulders. Although, considering the mice are walking on two legs, perhaps there are more important things to worry about. They help the tiny witch to a mouse hole in the wall, and one by one they all disappear into the darkness.

“Stay there.” Merlin says breathlessly as he starts the climb back down the garland.

Nutcracker makes a noise that sounds distinctly like a sigh and says with enough sarcasm that it could peel paint, “Because I was so eager to try to climb down with only one arm.”

“It was your idea to climb to the mantle.” Merlin replies with a little frown and hops down the last few centimeters. He staggers for a moment before righting himself. He looks around for something soft for Nutcracker to land on, and finds the cushion he was using to sleep on. With much grunting and sweating, Merlin finally pushes the cushion across the floor to rest under the garland. Nutcracker jumps down and lands on the cushion without any further harm.

“Am I dreaming?” Merlin asks once Nutcracker is standing firmly on the floor once more.

Nutcracker strides away from him stiffly, though that is probably more owing to being made of wood than a particular personality, “It’s real I’m afraid.” He says as he retrieves his sword from under the sofa, “I have to get back to Camelot.”

“Alright,” Merlin says uncertainly, “mind changing me back before you go?”

“Sorry?” Nutcracker asks as he slides his sword back into its scabbard.

“I used to be… you know… taller?” Merlin says and stands on tiptoe and hold his hand above his head for emphasis.

“I don’t have magic.” Nutcracker says mildly.

Merlin scowls, “I can’t spend the rest of my life the size of a mouse!”

“You shouldn’t have gotten involved.” Nutcracker says and starts to cross to the mouse hole.

“I saved your life!”

“And how well did that turn out for you?”

“Why can’t you just say thanks?” Merlin snaps.

“You’re right.” Nutcracker admits and something about him softens, “I owe you a great debt, but it isn’t one I’m capable of repaying. The only one strong enough to reverse Queen Morgana’s magic is Emrys, but he hasn’t been seen in generations. I’ve spent the last three years looking for him, ever since Queen Morgana turned me into a Nutcracker.”

“So you weren’t always like this?” 

“No.”

“Perhaps I can help.” A booming voice echoes across the sitting room, and Merlin nearly jumps out of his skin with fright. Next to him, Nutcracker draws his sword. The dragon on top of Gaius’s fancy clock stretches cat-like, then launches itself into the air. It glides gracefully around the room before coming to a stop in front of Merlin and Nutcracker. He towers above them, forcing Merlin to crane his neck and Nutcracker to take a few steps back in order to get a look at him. “You will find what you seek on the Isle of the Blessed, across the Sea of Storms.”

“You do realize,” Nutcracker says, sounding a bit like he’s prepared to argue with the dragon on such matters, “that it is impossible to cross the Sea of Storms.”

“It is dangerous indeed, Young Nutcracker,” the dragon says with the weight of hundreds of years of wisdom behind it, “but not impossible. If you wish to end the reign of Queen Morgana, you must cross the Sea of Storms and land on the Isle of the Blessed.”

“But—”

“Surely even you know better than to argue with a dragon.”

Nutcracker heaves another sigh and drags a wooden hand clumsily down his face, “I suppose I’m crossing the Sea of Storms. I thank you for your help.”

With that, he pivots and starts marching determinedly towards the mouse hole the tiny witch Merlin assumes must be Queen Morgana and her mice went through moments before. The dragon nods its great head towards the hole while maintaining eye contact with Merlin. He knows exactly what that suggestion means.

“If I go through, I have no way of getting back. There won’t be anyone to take care of my uncle.”

Merlin gets the impression that if dragons were capable of rolling their eyes, the dragon would be rolling his. Merlin, for one, thinks his complaint was entirely practical. Considering he has made a habit out of jumping into situations with barely a thought given, this is a massive improvement. Gaius would be proud if he was here to see it. The dragon launches itself from the floor, circles passed the Christmas tree, and fetches the tiny locket from around the ballerina ornament Merlin hung there earlier in the evening. He lands once more and extends his leg out to Merlin, the locket dangling from one talon.

“All you have to do is open this and you will return home.” The dragon says, “Now run along before you miss your chance.”

Merlin slips the locket over his neck, and eyes the mouse hole uncertainly. Nutcracker is standing there, clearly waiting for Merlin’s decision to be made. He thinks if nutcrackers could smile, his nutcracker would be. 

“Coming, Merlin?”

It gives him pause, certain he never introduced himself. Then again, he was tucked into Gwaine’s pocket for most of the evening. It’s entirely possible he heard Merlin’s name while he was asleep. Inanimate? Not standing in Gaius’s sitting room that’s for certain.

“You better not let me get eaten by a rat.” Merlin grumbles, crossing over to the mouse hole.

Nutcracker huffs a little laugh and pats Merlin on the back, “No promises.”

“Great.” Merlin says tightly, and steps through.

His stomach drops out from under him as his foot meets empty space. He tumbles through inky blackness streaked with glittering light. He can’t tell up from down. Then he hits the ground with an abrupt thump and a great cloud of white. When it clears, he realizes he’s lying in snow. 

He sits up, rubbing his slightly bruised shoulder, and takes in his surroundings. All around him is ice. Nutcracker is a few feet from him. One of his arms is on the opposite side of the cave, and Merlin would bet good money it is the one that was already coming loose back home.

Merlin gets to his feet, staggers barefoot over to the arm, and picks it up. By the time he turns, Nutcracker has gotten to his feet as well and is making his way over. 

Merlin grins at him and holds the arm aloft, “Here, let me give you a hand.”

“You know,” Nutcracker says as he takes his arm back, “I do believe being turned into a nutcracker was less painful than that joke.”

“Come on,” Merlin says, ignoring the insult as Nutcracker struggles to fit his arm back on, “My uncle was teaching me to be a doctor. I can help.”

Nutcracker struggles for another moment before relenting and handing his arm back over to Merlin, “Do what you have to.”

Merlin hoists the arm up, aligns the shoulder joint with the peg sticking out of the top of Nutcracker’s torso, and shoves. It pops back into place with a click and Nutcracker takes the opportunity to rotate it, testing the strength.

“Good?” Merlin asks.

“Very good.” Nutcracker says with a tone of surprise, “How did you do that?”

“It’s a bit like setting a dislocated shoulder, but much less upsetting because you didn’t scream in pain and there was no weird crunching noise when it got back into place.”

“I think you might be a good addition to my quest after all.”

Nutcracker draws his sword and crosses over to one of the thick walls of ice that surrounds them. He slams the hilt of his sword against the wall, but it doesn’t even cause bits of powdered ice to come loose. The walls must be solid ice.

“Any other ideas on how to get out of here?” Merlin asks dryly.

“Shut up, Merlin.”

“It’s just I don’t really fancy starving to death is all.” 

Strangely, he knows that they won’t freeze to death. For one thing, Nutcracker is made of wood. For another, Merlin is barefoot in the snow. His feet should be smarting something awful by now, but they aren’t. It’s chilly in the cave, but not ice cold. He chalks it up to whatever force animates wooden objects and allows mice to walk on two legs.

“You’re not going to starve to death.” Nutcracker says firmly and places a hand on Merlin’s shoulder in an awkward attempt at comforting, “I won’t allow it.”

Merlin believes him. 

A chill breeze blows through the cave, and a sparkling light drifts through the air in a lazy pattern, heading right for Merlin. He eyes it quizzically and asks, “A glow worm?”

“No. A snow fairy.” 

The little sparkling light comes to stop in front of Merlin, and it is indeed a little humanoid creature. Its skin is the same shimmering blue-white of the ice that makes up the wall of the ice cave and it hooks delicate little fingers into the cuff of Merlin’s sweater and pulls. Merlin watches in fascination as it tries to tug him along somewhere using only his sleeve, and is too distracted by seeing a real fairy to actually consider doing what it wants. Its grip on him slips, and the momentum it built up while tugging sends it flying backwards and it collides with Nutcrackers chest.

Nutcracker fumbles but manages to catch it before it hits the ground and gets more injured. He lifts his hands to his face to eye it more closely, and it staggers to its feet and glances over its shoulder to look at its wings. One of them is crumpled quite badly, and it whirls on Nutcracker with a vicious glare, and stamps one little foot, before launching into a rant into a high shrill voice in a language that Merlin can’t understand. 

“You ran into me! It’s not like I set out to crumple your wing!” Nutcracker shouts, outraged.

Merlin bites his lip to keep from laughing at him, and shuffles closer, “Hold it steady. I think I can fix it up.”

Nutcracker nods seriously, and braces his arms so as to make a more stable platform for the thing balanced on his palm, or what passes for a palm when one doesn’t have fingers. Merlin leans in close, and takes the wing gently between his forefinger and thumb. Steadily and draws his thumb and forefinger back, and the wing slowly uncrumples with each stroke. He releases it once it matches the other one and he smiles winningly at the snow fairy.

“Good as new.” Merlin tells it.

It beams at him, sticks its tongue out at Nutcracker, then vanishes in another sparkle of light. Nutcracker lets out an annoyed huff.

“They could have at least said thank you.”

Merlin raises his eyebrows meaningfully. 

“I am aware of the irony, Merlin, no need to rub it in.”

“Didn’t say a word.” 

A massive gust of chilly wind blows through the cave, bringing snow with it. It drifts from the ceiling in gently flakes, and Merlin reaches out curiously to touch one. It explodes in front of him and in its place floats another snow fairy. He draws his hand back quickly as all round him the snowflakes turn into hundreds of tiny blue-white creatures. They swirl around him, tangling in his hair and in his clothes, encouraging him to move.

Music swells from somewhere and he sends a desperate confused look Nutcracker’s way. Nutcracker looks on passively, apparently enjoying watching Merlin get harassed by snow fairies. Merlin rolls his eyes and gives in, figuring that fighting them would only prolong their stay in the cave. 

After a few shuffling steps, he realizes what they’re trying to get him to do. They want him to dance. He shrugs, and throws himself into it with abandon. For all that he teases Gwaine for being a terrible dancer, Merlin is far, far worse. He has always been too clumsy to look at all appealing even during a group dance, but he doesn’t feel that here. He turns and turns on the balls of his feet without getting dizzy, steps across the cave in time to the music without tripping over his own feet. 

An indescribable joy bubbles in his chest, warm and tingling, and he tosses his head back, laughing breathlessly. Cool wind caresses his cheeks and wraps around his hand, encouraging him to keep moving even as he starts to get tired. He spots Nutcracker out of the corner of his eye, standing to one side, hands on hips.

“Why aren’t you dancing?” Merlin calls to him as he is guided into another turn. 

“I’m made from wood.” Nutcracker replies archly.

As if understanding Merlin’s question, the snow fairies moves through the air, circling Nutcracker in their magic as well. They drag him closer to Merlin despite his protests, then swirl joyfully around them one last time. The music reaches a mighty crescendo and the fairies rush the wall of ice. It bursts outward in a dazzling display of fairy light, and sunlight on snow, and then the fairies vanish in a sparkle of light. 

“Probably off to make a blizzard somewhere else,” Nutcracker remarks, “but I would call that a thank you.”

Together they step out of the cave, neither noticing the flowers that sprout up in the footprints Merlin leaves behind. They come to a stop on the little ledge outside of the cave and take in the view. From here, Merlin can see across the woods to a speck in the distance that might be a castle. The trees are greener than any of the ones Merlin has seen at home, and the air smells faintly of peppermint.

“So, this is Camelot?” he asks.

“It is.” 

“It’s beautiful.”

“It won’t last that way if Queen Morgana has her way.” Nutcracker says solemnly, some of the playful edge of their interactions from before fading away, “Come on.”

They pick their way carefully down the side of the mountain. There is a path worn into the edge, but it’s clear that it has been some time since it was used. There are more pebbles than is probably safe, and plants grow up through the crags in the rocks. Merlin sort of admires their stubbornness. 

They continue on the path once they are safely off the side of the mountain. It wends its way through the woods in front of them, and Nutcracker charges along it with a single minded determination that is just a little terrifying. Who would’ve thought a battered old Nutcracker would be so intense. The path opens eventually and leads them into what remains in the town.

All around them houses stand at crooked angles. Front doors are torn off their hinges and plaster is scattered across the roads. Some of the houses even look half burnt, and one is still smoldering.

“I didn’t know it had gotten so bad.” Nutcracker says, voice cracking a little.

Merlin trips over some fabric and when he picks it up, he realizes it’s a cloak. It’s small, roughly the right size for an older child. Probably around ten. It is soft in his hands and a grey-green color that reminds him of some of the clothes Will was given as hand me downs from the big house. Once a much more vibrant color, but washed so many times it’s grown faded. 

“Queen Morgana’s work?” Merlin guesses.

“I didn’t realize she was hell bent on destruction. I thought—is that horse?”

“What?” 

“Over there, I think that’s a horse.” Nutcracker says, pointing with his entire arm. 

There is indeed a horse –a shining red-brown with a black mane and tail— prancing anxiously from foot to foot. Its ears are flat against its head and its snorting viciously at every leaf or snowflake that drifts by, clearly agitated. It’s harnessed to a cart of some kind, and Merlin worries that much more anxious pacing might get the poor thing tangled up in its own tack. 

He takes a cautious step closer to it, and Nutcracker’s hand clamps in his sweater once more, “What do you think you’re doing?”

“I was going to calm the horse down,” Merlin says and bats Nutcracker’s hand away, “if it keeps going like that, it could get hurt.”

“Don’t complain if it bites you.” 

Merlin rolls his eyes, and approaches with one hand out towards the horse. It shies away from him at first, but Merlin makes the shushing noise he’s grown accustomed to making whenever the stable hands at Ealdor could use some extra help. Apparently horse-soothing noises are the same in Camelot as back home, and the horse slowly stops fretting and nuzzles against Merlin’s hand. 

“Told you.” Merlin says smugly over his shoulder.

Something soft and powdery explodes against his back. He feels more confused than injured, but Nutcracker shouts something about an ambush and tackles Merlin behind a snow bank. They keep their backs pressed against the snowbank, panting a bit from the sudden exertion. Nutcracker makes a gesture that Merlin interprets to mean vaguely ‘stay down’, then pokes his head over the top of the snow bank. Tension eases from his shoulders, despite them being made of wood and held at rigid angles by pegs.

“It’s just a child.” Nutcracker informs him then splutters as a snowball crashes into his face, “A child with very good aim.”

Merlin eyes the cloak in his hand. They found it not far from the horse, it could be the child’s. They have nothing to lose by trying. He holds it above his head and shouts, “Wait! Is this yours?”

The onslaught of snowballs stops, and cautiously he and Nutcracker stand up properly once more. A little boy shuffles hesitantly out from behind a destroyed house. His hair is dark, and his eyes are very wide and pale blue. He is definitely missing a coat or anything to keep him warm in the chill. When they get close enough, Merlin wraps it around the little boy’s shoulders and fastens it. 

Nutcracker kneels in the snow with a great deal of grace who said he couldn’t dance because he was made of wood, “What’s your name?”

“Mordred.” The little boy answers, not quite meeting either of them eye to eye.

“Why don’t you tell me what happened Mordred?” 

“I went with my father and Hengroen to collect supplies for the village. When we got back the town was destroyed, and they killed my father.”

“Who did?”

“The mouse army.” Mordred answers angrily, “This is all Prince Arthur’s fault!”

“Prince Arthur?” Merlin asks.

Nutcracker gets back to his feet, keeping one protective hand on Mordred’s shoulder, “He was the son of King Uther, the man who ruled before Queen Morgana. She was Prince Arthur’s half-sister, but the throne was being passed down from Prince Arthur’s mother, Queen Ygraine, not his father. It meant that Morgana couldn’t inherit.”

“Then how did she end up as Queen?”

“King Uther thought Prince Arthur needed to prove himself worthy, and left Lady Morgana as regent until he proved himself.” 

“And let me guess,” Merlin sighs, “Morgana decided she liked being queen and decided to just take Camelot for himself.”

“I always thought Prince Arthur was very brave.” Mordred says with far too much bitterness for someone so young, “He helped my father and me when people wanted to hurt us. But when it came time for him to inherit, he just let Lady Morgana walk all over him. In the end he was just a coward.”

“What happened to him?” 

“He vanished.” Nutcracker cuts in before Merlin can ask any more questions and there’s something in his expression besides worrying for their safety, “It’s not safe here, we’re too exposed. You can stay with us, Mordred, until we find a safer place for you.”

Merlin frowns, but decides not to ask too many personal questions with a young boy in their presence. He helps Mordred into the back of the cart and then hops up beside nutcracker in the driver’s seat. With a clicking sound from Nutcracker, Hengroen trots on. Slowly, Mordred falls asleep tucked safely in the hay in the back.

“We used to live in peace with the mice.” Nutcracker says, breaking their uneasy silence.

“Morgana swayed them, didn’t she?”

“None of us can be sure, but it seems like she was making alliances with them from the moment King Uther fell into ill health.”

Merlin reaches out and squeezes Nutcracker’s shoulder, finding it almost warm to the touch, “Hey, we’ll find this Emrys. The two of you will defeat her, I’ll get back to my normal size, and everything will be alright again.”

“You sound very optimistic.”

“It’s either optimism, or I end up becoming surlier than you are. Take your pick.”

If nutcrackers could smile, Merlin is certain his would be. There’s still something like sadness hanging about in Nutcracker’s eyes though, even as he appreciates Merlin’s good natured teasing. He seems to be taking the downfall of this mysterious Prince Arthur to heart, taking it far more personally than even someone loyal to their prince. Maybe they knew each other, before Nutcracker was cursed, before Lady Morgana became Queen Morgana. If they were friends, it might explain the almost heartbroken expression. 

Hengroen trots steadily onward through the forest. Mordred continues to slumber in the back, probably exhausted after the ordeal with Queen Morgana’s mouse army. Late afternoon sunshine spills through the trees and tints the world around them in shades of gold and green. The snow they trekked through to find Mordred’s village hasn’t touched this part of Camelot as of yet, and Merlin would almost describe the whole setting as peaceful. Of course, that would mean ignoring the lingering threat of impending doom and being stuck the size of a mouse forever. Still, there’s something about the forest that feels less threatening than wandering out in the open. 

Next to him, Nutcracker is lost deep in thought. His forehead doesn’t wrinkle because he doesn’t technically have skin, but his painted eyebrows are drawn close together in the way they would be on someone made of flesh and bone. He focuses on the road, but Merlin has a feeling that his mind is worlds away. 

“Do you actually know where you’re going?”

Nutcracker blinks, coming back to reality, and turns his head to look at Merlin, “I beg your pardon, Merlin?”

“It’s just that we’ve been driving on the same road for the better part of the afternoon,” Merlin says with a shrug, “just wanted to make sure you had some sense of where we’re going.”

“Out of the two of us,” Nutcracker says haughtily, “I’m the one actually from Camelot.”

“But I’m not the one with wooden brains.”

Nutcracker gets that twinkle in his eyes again, the kind that make him look like he’s smiling even though he doesn’t have the proper parts to do so. He leans over and bumps Merlin playfully with his shoulder, and Merlin finds himself smiling back. He wishes every moment of his life could be like this, teasing and joking with someone he cares about. Gaius isn’t much of one for jokes. 

“I know where the Sea of Storms is. From there, getting to the Isle of the Blessed is a game of chance.”

“Crossing seems like a really bad idea.”

“That is because you are a coward.” Nutcracker says cheerfully. 

Merlin scoffs and raises his eyebrows, “No, it’s because I value my life and I don’t want to die horribly.”

Nutcracker tilts his head as though he’s considering and says, “Fair enough.”

They fall into a silence that is far less tense than the one they had before. The steady rumbling of the cart is a soothing rhythm in the background. Somewhere nearby a bird calls. 

“We should reach the road to the Sea of Storms any minute now.” 

Merlin hums to indicate that he’s heard. The forests of Camelot are so much more alive than the ones at home. He can feel the sun warming the grass on either side of the road, hear the hum of insects as they flit from flower to flower, and can smell the faintly dusty aroma of soil after rain. It’s like the world is welcoming him. 

“Did you know Prince Arthur?” Merlin asks, unwilling to hold the question in any longer. 

Nutcracker shoots him an unreadable glance out of the corner of his eye, “Why do you ask?”

“You got this look on your face when Mordred called Prince Arthur a coward, like you were taking the insult personally. Seemed like the only reason for that would be if you knew him, did you?”

“Don’t be an idiot.”

“Don’t be a clotpole.”

“A what?”

Merlin opens his mouth to reply but all that comes out is an uncertain, “Err…” 

“Shut up.” Nutcracker hisses and abruptly reins Hengroen to a halt.

“You’re the one who wouldn’t answer my question!” Merlin says indignantly. 

Nutcracker pulls his sword and steps out of the driver’s seat of the cart, whispering, “Shut up.”

This time Merlin listens. He steps off the cart as well and slips around behind to wake Mordred. Together, the two of them creep after Nutcracker towards the edge of the road. He holds a hand up in a gesture that probably means to halt, so Merlin listens, peeking around Nutcracker’s shoulder to see what he’s looking at. 

Not ten paces away is a group of mouse soldiers. They sit like men around a campfire, joking in their squeaking mouse language that Merlin doesn’t understand. They haven’t noticed their little group, but it won’t be long if they stay where they are. It’s time for them to go. 

He taps Nutcracker on the shoulder. Nutcracker turns, giving him a quizzical look. Merlin nods his head towards the road and mouths “Let’s go.” Nutcracker nods, and they all turn to leave. 

The silence is broken by a terrified whiny. Hengroen. Behind them, the mouse soldiers swing into action, squeaking and gathering weapons. 

Nutcracker places his hands in Mordred’s shoulders and shouts, “Run!”

The break into a sprint and emerge onto the road once more. Behind them, the mouse soldier follow, squeaking and crashing through the underbrush. Merlin instinctively heads towards the cart, but finds Hengroen kicking three more mouse soldiers out of his way. With another terrified whiny, Hengroen shoots off down another winding path. 

“This way!” Nutcracker shouts and tugs Merlin after him by the sweater. 

Merlin doesn’t hesitate. He runs, keeping Mordred ahead of him and out of the immediate danger as Nutcracker turns to hold the soldiers off. He doesn’t dare risk turning back. He knows that Nutcracker would want Mordred taken to safety, but his brain is stuck on a repeating loop of “Please don’t get hurt. Please don’t get hurt.” 

A mouse soldier appears in front of them, and Merlin shoves at it wildly. He doesn’t pause to see if it made any difference, just keeps propelling Mordred forward. 

“Up here!” a voice calls out, and a rope ladder drops from the branch of one of the trees. 

Merlin and Mordred skitter to a stop, eyeing it. The voice that called out was human, so presumably someone on their side of this fight. It can’t be any worse than facing down the mouse soldiers. Merlin gets his hands under Mordred’s armpits and heaves, allowing him to reach halfway up the ladder without having to climb. Once Mordred is steadily making his way to, hopefully, safety, Merlin dares a glance over his shoulder. 

Nutcracker is hot on his heels, sprinting away from mouse soldiers just out of sight. When he sees Merlin waiting, his eyes widen with exasperation and he shouts, “Move!”

Merlin hoists himself up the ladder. It reminds him a bit of the one he and Will used when they were younger and had made an attempt at a tree house in the woods around the big house. Sure enough a trapdoor opens overhead, and Merlin hooks his arms through the opening and pulls himself through. He tumbles across the deck, then staggers to his feet. 

All around him are humans. No mouse in sight. The relief is short lived. Every single one of them is carrying a sword, and all the swords are pointed at him. 

Moments later, Nutcracker is raised through the opening along with the ladder itself. He too staggers to a stop at the sight of swords. 

“Oh good,” he says sarcastically, “a trap.”

“Well I think being surrounded by humans is a slightly better position to be in than being chased by mice.” Merlin hisses under his breath. 

Just then two people step forward. One is a young man about Merlin’s age, with cool dark skin, and sharp assessing eyes. Next to him is a woman just a couple of inches shorter, with warmer skin a few shades lighter. She seems more open, but no less trusting of them. They’re dressed similarly in white tunics, dark trousers, and vests. 

“What do we have here?” the man asks, advancing a bit with his sword, “Spies for Queen Morgana?”

“And kidnappers by the look of it.” the woman adds, gesturing towards Mordred. 

Mordred, bless him, steps forward with his very serious pale eyes and says, “No. They helped me.”

The woman softens a little and sends a curious look their way, then holds her hand out to Mordred, “Come on, Elena can take care of you.”

Mordred hesitates for a moment, glancing between Nutcracker and Merlin. Merlin nods encouragingly, and smiles like he isn’t at all panicked by the swords being pointed at him. Mordred shuffles over to the woman who passed him off to a blonde woman who must be Elena. 

The man slides his sword back into its scabbard, and squints at them, “Not spies then?”

“To be fair,” Merlin says, “you dropped the ladder down to us. Thanks for not letting us be killed by mice that would’ve been an awkward way to go.”

The man has to fight back a smile at that, and he nods his head towards a door, “I suppose you won’t mind answering a few questions?”

“We have nothing to hide.” Nutcracker says and starts across the platform in the direction of the door. 

“You do realize that as soon as you say you have nothing to hide, that does make you infinitely more suspicious?” the woman asks with a great deal of amusement. 

The four of them step through the door into a room not unlike Gaius’s study back home. There are maps tacked to the wall. There are documents spread across a large wooden table. The lamps hanging from the ceiling are even similar in design to the ones Gaius uses. 

“I am Major Elyan Mint, and this is my sister Captain Guinevere Candy.”

“Hang on,” Merlin interjects, “if you’re siblings shouldn’t you have the same last name?”

“I got married.” Guinevere explains. 

“Congratulations!” Nutcracker says, sounding genuinely excited as one might be for a friend. Either he doesn’t notice the three other people in the room giving him strange looks, or he ignores them. Merlin wouldn’t be surprised if it was the latter. 

“Now that’s out of the way. Gwen and I have been leading the resistance against Queen Morgana for the last two years. Who are you and what are you doing here?”

“I’m Merlin.” Merlin says and shakes Elyan’s hand. 

“Merlin and I are both victims of Queen Morgana’s magic.” Nutcracker explains, stepping closer to Elyan and Gwen now that the initial distrust is over with, “We’re on a quest to find the sorcerer Emrys.”

“Emrys?” Gwen asks. 

“He’s prophesied to be Morgana’s doom. He’s the only one who can break her enchantments.” 

“That sounds rather farfetched.” Elyan points out, bracing his hands against the wooden table. 

“It’s true, told to me by Prince Arthur himself.” 

Merlin turns his head in surprise. That particular detail about the Nutcracker’s quest was left out of the explanation he was given. He is torn between irritation about information being kept from him, information he really should have if he wants to be of any use on this quest, and smugness at guessing that Nutcracker knew Prince Arthur. 

Elyan scoffs, “Prince Arthur is the reason we’re in this mess to begin with.”

Nutcracker flinches, once again taking the slight against the prince personally, “Is there no loyalty left for him in Camelot?”

“Why would be loyal to someone so arrogant, so foolish, or so irresponsible?” Elyan asks. 

“Elyan.” Gwen says sharply, “Arthur was my friend. He had his flaws, but so do we all.”

Elyan turns to Gwen, hands on hips, “You’re forgetting, Captain Candy, that I am your superior officer.”

“Only because Major sounded better with the surname Mint. Don’t act like you were any more responsible than Arthur up until a few years ago.”

“Regardless, we have to worry about keeping what remains of the people of Camelot safe.”

“Then maybe you should be looking for Emrys as well.” Merlin suggests. 

“We don’t have time to go in search of a sorcerer who may not even exist, not with Morgana’s armies pushing closer every day.”

“I think he does exist.” Gwen says thoughtfully, “No. Shush, Elyan, and listen. I was Morgana’s maid before all this happened and I used to serve drinks at dinner. I remember King Uther telling Arthur about Emrys. I highly doubt Uther of all people would indulge in unsubstantiated legends.”

Elyan turns to look at Merlin and Nutcracker, “Do we know where Emrys is?”

“On the Isle of the Blessed, across the Sea of Storms.” Nutcracker answers, “We were on our way there when we were ambushed by Morgana’s mice.”

“I think it might be worth going. After all, nothing else we’ve tried has worked.” Gwen points out. 

Elyan sighs, but Merlin can see the exact moment he gives into his sister. He drops his head, closes his eyes like he’s praying for patience. If there was ever any doubt these two were siblings, that expression would prove it. Merlin has made the same face because of Will too many times to count. 

“Alright. We’ll go, but if this is going to be a proper expedition, then I’m leading.”

“Of course.” Nutcracker agrees with a polite incline of his head. 

“Get some rest. We leave first thing in the morning.”

Merlin and Nutcracker turn to leave, but before they can step out the door, Gwen catches Nutcracker by the elbow. Her brow is wrinkled with concern. “Do you know what became of Prince Arthur?”

“Queen Morgana destroyed him.” Nutcracker answers solemnly. 

Gwen releases his elbow, tears pricking at her eyes. She doesn’t let them fall, but Merlin’s heart goes out to her. He can’t imagine what it must be like to lose a friend. She nods, and steps back, letting them step out into the moonlight. 

Something about what Nutcracker said doesn’t sit right with Merlin. He can’t quite put his finger on why. It isn’t the tone. Informing someone of a loved one’s passing should always be taken seriously. Somewhere, however, there is an inconsistency. 

“You told me he vanished.” Merlin realizes. 

“What?”

“When I asked you what happened to Prince Arthur, you told me he vanished.”

“Same thing.”

“Very different.” Merlin argues, “One implies he might still be out there wandering around, the other implies he’s dead and gone.”

“Don’t be an idiot, Merlin.”

Merlin rolls his eyes and goes to check on Mordred. Elena apparently took good care of him, and he’s tucked into a cot by the time Merlin tracks him down. 

“Are you still looking for Emrys?” Mordred asks sleepily. 

“We’ll be leaving tomorrow.”

“Can I come? I want to make sure Hengroen is okay.”

Merlin smiles and strokes Mordred’s hair off his forehead, “I’m sure he’s fine. You need to stay here with Elena where it’s safe.”

“What’ll happen to Nutcracker when his enchantment breaks?” 

That’s when it hits Merlin with perfect clarity. The shiftiness, the inconsistent stories, the way insults land, the excitement at Gwen’s announcement. It all comes together with one obvious conclusion. Inside beats the heart of a prince. 

“Something wonderful, I bet.” Merlin responds and ticks the covers in tighter around Mordred. 

For a tree top fort, there’s a surprising amount of hidden books and crannies. It takes Merlin well over an hour to find Nutcracker. He sits on the edge of a platform, wooden legs dangling into the air. He has that faraway look in his eyes again, like he’s thinking too hard. 

“Couldn’t sleep?” Merlin asks, dropping to sit beside him. 

“I’m a Nutcracker, I don’t need sleep.” Nutcracker says waspishly. 

Merlin turns away, gazing up at the moon looming large and full in the sky, “I think you’re selling yourself a bit short, Prince Arthur.”

If possible, Nutcracker, no, Arthur, gets even stiffer and he turns to Merlin with a calculating gaze, “How did you figure it out?”

“I told you, I’m not the one with wood for brains. Why haven’t you told anyone who you are?”

“I didn’t want to be a prince when I had the chance,” Arthur states like he’s commenting on the weather, “and now I don’t deserve to be one.”

“Far be it from me to make you even more self-important, but you’re risking your life for your people. You’re doing it not because you want glory or honor, but because it is the right thing to do. I happen to think those are the makings of a great king.”

“My only hope is to find Emrys. Hopefully, with his help, I can defeat Morgana, and return my people’s happiness. I owe them that at least.”

“Arthur—” Merlin starts, but Arthur cuts him off by standing up. 

“Better stick to Nutcracker for now.” Arthur says and pats Merlin’s shoulder, “Get some rest. Elyan wants to reach the Sea of Storms by noon tomorrow.”


	2. Chapter 2

They leave in the early morning while the grass is still covered in dew. They climb down the rope ladder that saved them yesterday, careful to remain silent. It isn’t likely that Morgana’s mice are still roaming the woods. If they’d seen the ladder haul Arthur into the trees, they would have cut the tree down rather than wait patiently for them all to appear. Still, better safe than sorry. 

They emerge onto the road a couple of hours later, leaving the forest behind. As they do, some of the humming Merlin felt in his bones begins to fade, and it’s easy to see why. The land bordering the forest is barren. 

All around are hard packed hills with scraggly bits of yellow grass with barely any green poking through. Merlin expected the road to be dirt, so that comes as no surprise, but the dirt roads back home are bordered by long grass that can reach up to a man’s belly if it isn’t cut in time. Here the dirt road is overlooked by dirt embankments so dry that the soil has gone a sickly brown. 

“What does she hope to accomplish by ruining the land? She won’t have anything to rule over if all the people die.” Merlin asks, keeping his voice low so as not to attract attention. 

Gwen is the one who answers, “Knowing Morgana, she probably wants the people to become dependent on her generosity. If she’s the only who can provide food, she’s the one everyone will listen to.”

Merlin shakes his head and falls silent once more. All of this just for some power. It’s ridiculous. Merlin hasn’t known Arthur long, but he has no doubt if Morgana had asked, Arthur would have found a place for her alongside him as he worked. Arthur strikes him as the loyal type. 

Most of the morning passes that way. Silence broken only when trying to understand Morgana’s plan. A picture starts to form in Merlin’s mind of a young Morgana, someone focused on justice and fairness. No one can seem to pinpoint when the slide into power hungry madness began, they all just looked up and discovered she’d changed right before their eyes. 

“This way.” Elyan says and nods his head toward what appears to be a ravine. 

Upon getting closer, Merlin can see that it is indeed a ravine. Sheer walls of solid rock plunge into the river meters below. When squinting carefully, there’s an occasional glimmer of light that suggests somewhere at the bottom of the ravine there is water. It’s too far away to tell if it’s a river or a lake. 

A makeshift bridge stretches the width of the ravine. It is constructed out of thick flat rocks, like enlarged garden stepping stones. They hover in the air as if suspended there by magic. Considering that this quest is built around finding a sorcerer to defeat another, magic _is_ probably responsible for the construction. 

“You have got to be joking.” Merlin says, eyeing the stones with a great deal of trepidation. 

One wrong step and you go plunging to the bottom of the ravine. Merlin, as clumsy as he is, has a feeling that out of anyone in this group, he is the most likely to fall to his death. He doesn’t relish the thought. 

“It’s the only way across,” Elyan at least has the good grace to sound apologetic, “but there’s nothing to worry about. These stones have stood the test of time for centuries.”

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this.” 

Merlin’s protests are ignored as Elyan steps out onto the first stone. He wobbles a bit, but rights himself with ease and sends a smile back their way. Gwen, apparently taking her brother not falling to his death as a sign of confidence, goes next. 

She steps onto the first stone, putting her two behind Elyan. She hops onto the next one, and slides right in behind him, waiting for her turn to hop onto the next stone. Elyan hops to the next one. 

It’s like the whole world slows down for Merlin as he watches it happen. Elyan’s pack, heavy with the supplies they packed for the journey, bounces off his back and he overbalances. His arms pinwheel wide as he struggles to regain his footing, and one catches Gwen on the shoulder. The weight of her pack drags her back as she staggers to right herself, and she slips off the stone. 

Merlin’s eyes widen with horror, his mind screams a barely coherent _Don’t fall!_

Gwen’s arm whips out at the last second and she manages to catch a root of a tree that had snaked its way free of the cliff face. Her pack slips from her shoulders and goes tumbling to the bottom of the ravine, but better the supplies than Gwen herself. She swings her free hand up, and she clings desperately to the root, letting out a panicked, “Help!”

Merlin doesn’t hesitate. The world around him speeds to its natural pace once more, and he throws himself flat against the edge of the ravine, stretching his hand out to Gwen. 

“Take my hand!”

Gwen swings herself upward, pushing with all her strength, and releases the hand closest to Merlin’s. Their fingers slip against each other for a moment, but in the end Merlin’s arm isn’t long enough. Gwen comes crashing back down on the root with both hands, and it lets out an ominous cracking sound. She sinks a little further out of reach. 

_Don’t break. Don’t break. Don’t break._ Merlin chants in his head as he looks around for something to use to help Gwen. 

Miraculously, the root stays intact. There’s a popping noise, and Merlin turns to find Arthur popping his loose arm free of his shoulder. He grips it tight in his remaining hand, and he stretches himself alongside Merlin in the dirt at the edge of the ravine. 

Again, Gwen swings herself upward. Her hand catches on Arthur’s, and she lets go with her remaining hand just as the root tears itself out of the ravine wall and goes crashing into the water below. 

Arthur strains, pulling Gwen closer at an agonizingly slow pace. When she’s close enough to reach, Merlin stretches out his hands once more and grabs Gwen by her upper arms. Together, he and Arthur pull her safely over the edge of the ravine and back onto solid land. 

They collapse in an awkward pile, gasping for air. Or, Gwen and Merlin gasp for air anyway. Arthur is still made of wood and therefore does not respire. 

Gwen sits up after a moment and smiles gratefully at Arthur, “Thank you for saving my life.”

From across the ravine Elyan shouts something that is difficult to make out, but is probably meant to keep them moving. Gwen looks entirely unimpressed by it, and mutters something about stupid brothers. Even in her irritation, she crosses the stepping stones at a much slower and more cautious pace than the first time. 

“Your help came in handy.” Merlin remarks. 

“Anything to help an old friend.” Arthur replies. 

There’s the loyalty Merlin has come to know. It would have cost Arthur nothing to let Gwen fall, but he chose to imperil his own life at the chance of saving hers, and he chose to because of his love for an old friend. It’s easy to see Arthur as a great king. 

By the time the two of them cross the stones, Gwen and Elyan are in full sibling bickering mode. 

Merlin alights just in time for Elyan to say, “Shame your clumsiness cost us supplies. We’ll have to stop and find some on the way.”

“My clumsiness?” Gwen asks in a dangerous tone. 

“I wasn’t the one dangling over a ravine, Gwen.”

“Whose leadership skills put me there!” 

Elyan turns and walks away done the road, apparently choosing retreat over arguing with his sister. Merlin can’t blame him. There have been lots of times he’s argued with Will and ran. He exchanges amused glances with Arthur, and the two of them follow after Gwen and Elyan. 

They follow a winding path down another hill of dead grass and come to a stop at a fork in the path. In the distance, Merlin can hear waves crashing against a shore. Strange that his first time going to the coast is in an entirely different land. 

“We need supplies.” Elyan announces, “We should split up. Gwen and I will go to the shore and see about a boat, you two go collect rations.”

That funny feeling that Merlin had just before Gwen fell flares to life in his chest once more, “Are you sure that’s a good idea? If something goes wrong wouldn’t it be better if we were all together?”

“Don’t worry, Merlin, I’ll protect you.” Arthur teases. 

“Because that worked so well the last time.”

“It’ll be alright.” Gwen says reassuringly, “Besides, if we don’t split up it will take twice as long as normal, and the seas get rougher the longer the day goes on.”

Merlin decides it’s best not to argue. The last thing he needs is for the quest to fall apart over one disagreement. As much as he’s enjoyed his time with Arthur, he needs to get home. He has people depending on him. He has his mother, Will, Gaius, even Gwaine to a certain extent. He owes them a safe return home. 

Arthur tugs on his arm, and they take the left path while Gwen and Elyan take the other. Arthur leads them down a steep winding trail that deposits them at the bottom of the hill. In front of them stretches a huge swathe of dead flat land. A few trees remain upright, but their bark is grey and withered, the tress long since dead. 

“This was an orchard, once.” Arthur says forlornly, “I was hoping it was still here.”

“You’ve seen the destruction Morgana has brought. I’m surprised the whole of Camelot hasn’t just been turned to stone.”

“This is my fault. All of it.”

“How old were you when Uther died?”

“What?”

“How old were you when Uther died?” Merlin repeats his question.

“Twenty-two.”

“I’m twenty-two now, and my mother still comes down to pester me because she doesn’t believe I can cook an egg.”

Arthur sighs in irritation and rests his hands on his hips, “Is there a point to this?”

“The point is that you were young when Morgana staged her coup, and she had superior numbers of allies. It isn’t your fault that you lost.”

“That isn’t what my people seem to think.”

“Your people are looking for someone to blame for their misfortune. You vanished, and therefore became an easy target. It doesn’t make it right.”

“You have these moments where you display… well, wisdom, I suppose. It’s very strange.”

Merlin grins, “I keep telling you, you’re the one with wood for brains.”

“You’re talking to a prince Merlin, try to have some respect.” Arthur says, then tilts his head, looking at something past Merlin, “Hang on.”

Merlin turns as Arthur brushes passed him, and watches curiously as he walks over to a metal cover sunk deep in the ground. Arthur wraps his hands around the handle, and pulls but it doesn’t budge. He repositions his grip, and leans sideways, trying to use his body weight, what little of it there is considering he’s made of wood, to twist it free of the ground.

“What are you doing?” Merlin asks, coming over to watch.

“This was a well, if it was capped before Morgana started her rampage, there might still be water in it.” Arthur explains and glances up with a scowl, “Well don’t just stand there Merlin, some help would be nice.”

Merlin sighs and squats down next to him, “Use your sword.”

“I take back what I said about wisdom.”

“Look, if you want to listen the lid on a jar, you wiggle a tip of a knife into the seal between the jar and the lid itself. The same principle probably applies here, unless its magical sealed. If that’s the case you’re on your own.”

Arthur unsheathes his sword, and inserts the tip between the edge of the metal, and the earth it’s clinging to. With a groan, the lid comes loose and Arthur yanks it open. Instantly the air is filled with a swarm of multicolored lights. These fairies look similar to the snow fairies in facial structure and body type, but their skin is an array of hues; the color of every flower under the sun. They swarm Arthur, speaking in those same high pitched voices in the language Merlin doesn’t understand.

“What are they saying?” 

“Morgana tricked them into going down the well, and capped it with cold iron so they couldn’t escape. It’s part of why the land is so devastated. They haven’t been here to help plants grow.”

The flower fairies split off from Arthur and come to swirl in dizzying patterns around Merlin. Why fairies have an interest in him, he doesn’t know, but these ones are more playfully than their snow counterparts. They land on his shoulders, tug at his hair, chatter into his ear. He looks up at Arthur, eyebrows raised, hoping for an explanation only to find Arthur looking at them in consternation.

“Really? Him?”

“Me what?” Merlin asks as one alights on the back of his hand and tugs at the sleeve of his sweater just like the fairy in the ice cave yesterday.

Arthur sighs and glances away, looking a bit constipated, “They say you’re very beautiful.”

The fairies all make tinkling noises then, and when Merlin glances down at the one on his hand, he finds it giggling. Apparently fairies are as mischievous as the stories he heard growing up would have him believe. He rolls his eyes, and waves his hand a little, trying to dislodge the tiny creature. It giggles at him one last time, then dives upwards towards the sky, tugging on a lock of his hair as it goes.

Much like the ice fairies, the flower fairies swirl together, and their light begins twinkling brighter than before. Again, music swells out of nowhere, and they begin to dance. Their movements graceful, moving across the air as easily as if it was a dance floor. Something tickles Merlin’s foot as he watches, and when he looks down, brilliant emerald green grass has burst out of the earth all around him, spreading from seemingly the bottom of his feet, outwards.

He feels it again, that same warm tingling in his chest as he felt with the snow fairies. It isn’t overwhelming this time, instead it feels like it has always been there and he just hasn’t been able to figure out how to use it. He allows them to sweep him into a dance like the snow fairies did, even though he’s still exhausted from walking nonstop for two days, and rescuing Gwen from certain death. He isn’t sure how fairy courts work in this world, or even if there are fairy courts, but he danced with the snow fairies, so he dances with the flower fairies as well. He doesn’t need to cause more trouble for Arthur by sparking a fairy war for him to contend with after taking back his thrown.

Grass continues to burst to life beneath his feet, protecting them from getting poked with rocks. He lets the fairies guide him into an elaborate set of turns, and when he finally comes to a stop, he finds himself standing next to Arthur. All around them the orchard has sprung back to life, and Arthur tosses an apple in the air and catches it with a pleased smile on his face.

“Supplies.” He says by way of explanation.

Merlin grins at him, pleased as well. Arthur may not realize it, but even now he’s working to free the land of Morgana’s curse. Even a small section of land regained is a step in the right direction. Merlin can’t wait to see Camelot under Arthur’s rule. It’s going to be wonderful. Perhaps he can stay awhile after Emrys lifts the curse. The dragon did say that the locket would take him back whenever he was ready, so maybe an extra day or two wouldn’t hurt.

Merlin leans up and plucks an apple from one of the trees, and adds it to the pile Arthur has already started. Neither of them have a pack to carry the apples in, but Merlin supposes he could remove his sweater and use that. He is wearing an undershirt, so it isn’t like he would be completely bare. He hears an indignant noise, and straightens to see the fairies shoving Arthur towards him. 

Arthur stumbles to a stop, visibly rolls his eyes, and holds his hand out to Merlin.

Merlin tilts his head, amused grin tugging at his mouth, “Are you asking me to dance?”

“No.” Arthur says stiffly, “The fairies are insisting.”

“You’re asking me to dance.” Merlin says, feeling pleased in a way that has nothing to do with Arthur being uncomfortable. Though, that is a definite side benefit. 

Arthur sighs, shoulders slumping a bit, “Fine. I’m asking you to dance.”

Merlin moves to take Arthur’s hand, a fluttery feeling building in his chest. The world around them rumbles. They stagger apart with the force of it, and the fairies let out high pitched terrified noises and scatter in all directions. The world rumbles again, and Merlin braces himself against a tree in order to keep his feet.

A massive hulking thing appears over the hill. It’s grey, and its limbs are fashioned out of staggered outcroppings of rock. Something resembling a face sits on a large wedge shaped stone that is serving as its torso. 

“Run!” Arthur bellows.

Merlin doesn’t need to be told twice. He sprints away from the rock creature as fast as his legs can carry him, Arthur half a step behind him. They scramble up the little goat trail they followed down, but with considerably less grace than their descent. They clear the top of the hill just as the rock creature crashes down into the orchard. All the work the flower fairies just put in, destroyed. 

They don’t have time to stop and mourn. They set out on the right hand fork. Thankfully, it is much easier to follow than the one that leads down into the orchard. They burst forth onto the beach. Merlin doesn’t get the opportunity to relish feeling sand between his toes for the first time. He can spot Gwen and Elyan just ahead, rigging a little boat to carry them across the Sea of Storms.

“Gwen! Elyan!” Merlin calls out in warning.

Elyan turns to Gwen, and says something inaudible. The earth shakes again, and Gwen’s eyes widen. She points over Merlin’s shoulder, and he hears her shout of, “Rock Giant!”

The rumbling pauses for the briefest of seconds, but Merlin keeps moving, not daring to pause to look back. Gwen and Elyan dive away from the boat, and a boulder crashes into it. Splinters of wood go flying across the beach, and Elyan and Gwen narrowly avoid being impaled. Merlin and Arthur reach them moments later, and all four of them huddle for cover behind a sand bank. If the Rock Giant decides to throw another boulder at them, the sand won’t offer much protection, but Merlin prays that the creature is too stupid to be able to aim without its targets in sight.

“It must be Morgana’s magic,” Gwen says breathlessly, “no one else has power like that.”

The world rumbles so hard it makes Merlin’s teeth clack together, and the sand shifts beneath their feet. Water begins bubbling up through the sand because of how hard the earth shakes. With every step the rock giant takes, the earth rumbles, the sand mixes further with the salt water, and it soaks the hem of Merlin’s trousers. Gwen and Elyan face the same struggle as him.

“We can’t hold this position for much longer.” Arthur points out.

Elyan risks a peek over the top of the bank and winces, “We have no way of defeating that thing.” 

“The water.” Merlin realizes.

“In case it has escaped your notice,” Arthur says angrily, “we are short of a boat.”

“I know, but rocks sink. We don’t have to wade out very far, just far enough that its feet sink in the wet sand and the current topples it and drags it out.”

Elyan hesitates, then orders, “We have nothing to lose. Try it Merlin’s way.”

They move as a group. They throw themselves free of the sand bank, and go charging to the waterline. As Merlin’s feet connect with the water, it chills him to the bone. Then he realizes that he isn’t sinking in like he thought he would, and neither are his friends. They all stand on a patch of ice. 

Twinkling blue-white lights burst forth from nowhere. A few of the lights go for the rock giant, distracting it by flitting just out of reach of its giant rock arm. The snow fairies dance across the waves of the Sea of Storms, freezing the entire sea in place. It reminds Merlin of ice skating on the frozen lake in Ealdor, but on a much larger scale. 

There’s a triumphant whinny, and Hengroen appears at the edge of the ice, no doubt summoned by the fairies as well. His cart is still intact, and he comes charging across the surface of the sea and comes to a stop next to Arthur and Merlin. Merlin clamber into the back where Mordred hid yesterday, though much of the hay has since disappeared. Elyan dives into the driver’s seat of the cart and uses the reins to encourage Hengroen to trot on just as Gwen flings herself onto the bench beside them.

Hengroen sets off at a gallop, and the cart rolls steadily behind him. Merlin expects the wheels to slip on the ice, but they don’t. Apparently the snow fairies decided to enchant their wheels to make them ice proof. That comfort is short lived. The rock giant takes tottering steps onto the ice and continues to rumble without them. There is no cracking sound to indicate the ice breaking under its giant feet. Merlin’s heart sinks.

“The snow fairies did their job too well!” Elyan shouts.

Arthur gets this look in his eye that Merlin doesn’t like. He saw it in Arthur’s eyes when they were fighting Queen Morgana back in Gaius’s sitting room. He is determined to follow a plan through, and Merlin has a feeling he isn’t going to like it.

Sure enough, Arthur whips around, and snatches the reins from Elyan’s hands. He reins Hengroen to a stop, then jumps off the back of the cart with his sword drawn. 

“What are you doing?” Merlin shouts at the same time Gwen calls, “What on earth are you planning to do with a sword?”

“Merlin was right!” Arthur shouts back, “Rocks sink, but wood floats!”

With that, he plunges his sword into the ice. The familiar ominous cracking sound echoes across the frozen sea, and Merlin never would have thought the sound of breaking ice would be a comforting one. He’s seen too many people fall in and drown. Now though, he wants that exact thing to happen.

Arthur yanks his sword free of the ice as the rock giant looms closer, and takes off at a sprint back towards Hengroen and the cart. Elyan whips around again, and sets Hengroen at a trot once more. Arthur makes a desperate leap for the back of the cart, and Merlin lunges forward to help. His hand lands on Arthur’s back, and for a moment, it feels like his fingers tangle in actual fabric as he hauls Arthur into the cart. 

With Arthur safely back on board, they turn to watch. The rock giant steps directly onto the weakened ice, and it crumbles underneath its weight. The rock giant makes a moaning sound, and scrabbles at the edges of the ice as it sinks, but to no avail. Its own weight drags it through the hole in the ice, and its head disappears beneath the surface with a sigh. Something resembling a large bat flaps away from the scene, and disappears into the fog that was created when the sea abruptly froze over. All is silent.

“How did Morgana find us?” Arthur asks darkly.

“Someone must have followed us.” Gwen responds, leaning over the back of the bench to check Arthur for scratches.

“Or something.” Merlin adds, remembering the bat.

The fog around them thickens, and only gets worse the further they go. It gets to the point where Merlin can only barely make out Hengroen’s ears from where he and Arthur sit in the cart. The silence is no longer tinged with relief, but worry. 

Elyan is the one who says what they’re all thinking, “The fog is only getting worse, and there’s been no sign of the Isle of the Blessed. We need to turn back.”

Just then Hengroen slows to a stop and lets out an anxious snort. Elyan leans forward to pat him on the neck. Even Gwen looks a bit nervous, and she carried on after almost falling to her death like it was a mere inconvenience. She might be the bravest person Merlin has ever met. When Elyan tugs the reins to turn Hengroen around, Hengroen resists and scrapes at the ice with his hoof.

Merlin realizes that warm tingling in his chest is noticeable once more. Whatever Hengroen sensed, it’s calling to him too. He slips from the back of the cart despite everyone’s protests, and takes shuffling steps forward, hand outstretched so he doesn’t run face first into anything. Behind him, he can hear his friends climbing off the cart as well. Whether it’s to follow him to see where he’s going, or drag him back to the cart he doesn’t find out. 

As he walks, the fog fades from around him, and the sunlight filters through some remaining storm clouds. He drops his hand and the last of the fog clears, revealing that they made it to an island. Hengroen and the cart stand on the pebble shore, and that explains why Hengroen didn’t want to continue. Stones in hooves can be painful, and it doesn’t seem as though his hooves were shod. 

An old stone ruin rises out of the center of the island, and the tingling in Merlin’s chest grows when he looks at it. A breeze ruffles the hair on his head, and he swears it whispers _thank you_. 

“I have a feeling if we find Emrys, we’ll find him in there.” Elyan says and takes a step forward.

“Honestly, Elyan,” Gwen says, sounding fondly exasperated, “just let Nutcracker and Merlin lead.”

Elyan turns to face Gwen, clearly indignant, “You and I have been leading the resistance, Gwen. We should be in charge.”

“If this were solely resistance activity, then I would agree, but Nutcracker and Merlin were searching for Emrys before we even knew he existed. They have the better luck with magic as well, clearly. When have the fairies been inclined to help anyone?”

For a second, Merlin thinks Elyan will argue. It can’t feel good, having your authority undermined. Apparently Elyan must be too tired from the day’s events to put up even a token protest. He offers Arthur a smile, and steps aside.

Arthur shakes Elyan’s hand, solemn and proud, “You have done well keeping the people safe. There is no one I trust more than you and Gwen to keep leading should this fail.”

“You seem to have a great deal of luck, we could use that right about now.”

Arthur leads them up the hill towards the ruined castle, and the humming in Merlin’s chest spreads down his arms and into his fingers. It swirl behind his eyes, fills his lungs. He must make a sound of some kind, because Arthur turns to him with a worried look. Merlin smiles at him. It doesn’t hurt, or even feel all that strange. It’s like the humming was always meant to be worked into the very fabric of his being, and he simply forgot.

The stone crumbles a little under foot as they enter the ruin. Clearly, whoever once lived here has long since abandoned the place. They cross the opening to a hallway, and Merlin pauses. Something calling to him, whispering _this way, this way_. He gazes down the empty hall, but nothing immediately shows itself. Arthur’s hand lands on his shoulder, and Merlin startles.

“Are you coming?” Arthur teases, but his eyes betray his worry.

“Yes.” Merlin says vaguely, staring back down the hall, “Go. I’m right behind you.”

Arthur lets go of his shoulder, and takes the hallway that leads to the courtyard of the castle. Gwen and Elyan are close behind. Merlin remains rooted to the spot. He doesn’t want to leave his friends behind, but the voice won’t leave his head. 

He takes a hesitant step into the hall, “Hello? Emrys?”

A loud clang echoes through the ruin, resounding off the stone walls and amplifying over itself until it drowns out even Merlin’s thoughts. He shakes himself, realizing the sound came from the courtyard. The very courtyard where his friends went to look for Emrys. He turns on his heel and sprints in the direction the rest of them went. He stumbles to a stop just before bursting through into open air.

Gwen, Elyan, and Arthur stand in the middle of the courtyard, but it must have been a trap. They are caught in a large metal cage, and as Merlin watches the base locks onto the top, preventing any escape. Large bats like the one Merlin saw flying away from the rock giant’s watery grave swoop into the courtyard and grab the cage with their feet.

The largest of them hovers a few paces away, scanning the area. Merlin ducks behind a wall. If they’ve been watched this whole time, the bat is probably looking for him. He isn’t about to be found.

“Well it’s not like the boy can get off the island anyway,” comes a smarmy voice, “Queen Morgana will just have to be content with three out of the four.”

There comes the sound of many wings flapping, and when Merlin peeks around the wall, he sees the cage being carried off by the bats. When he is sure they are out of earshot, he curses long and loud enough to make a sailor blush. All of their hard work, and it ends like this. His friends are carried off to an unknown fate, and Merlin is fated to starve to death on a damn magic island. Seems his luck has finally run out.

He stomps out of the ruin, and comes to stand next to Hengroen on the shore. Hengroen munches happily on some grass that has grown up between some of the boulders that border the beach, unaware of his fate. 

Merlin glares out across the water, letting anger roll through him. He has all the time in the world to be miserable, he is going to stick with anger for now. He picks up a rock and hurls it into the waves, just to make himself feel better. It doesn’t help.

Deciding that if he’s going to die, he’s going to do it on his own terms. Better drowning than starving. He gets as far as examining Hengroen’s cart, mentally planning on constructing a raft to sail with, when twinkling lights appear. He recognizes the multicolored display as the flower fairies he met in the orchard. 

One alights on his shoulder and tugs at his hair. Merlin tries to wave it away, but it just darts out of the way and tugs in his ear next.

“What?” he snaps harshly.

“We answered your call.” The fairy announces, and Merlin startles.

“How is it I can understand you?”

“It is almost time.” the fairy replies, sounding grave even with its high pitched voice, “We answered your call, now come.”

He doesn’t really have any other options, so he lets the fairy lead him a little way back towards the ruin. When he clears the pebbles of the beach, he discovers a whole crowd of flower fairies. They hold a swing made of leaves between them, and the fairy that lead him darts forward and pats the seat in a universal gesture to sit. 

“This is a bad idea.” Merlin mutters, more to himself than anyone else, and crosses over to the swing. 

He lowers himself onto the seat, and wraps his hands in the plants that make up the ropes of the swing. _Please be sturdy_ , he thinks. Around him the fairies dissolve into exciting gibbering that moves too fast for Merlin to keep up with. He wonders if the fairies can read minds.

The swing lurches underneath him, and he grits his teeth against the disconcerting sensation of being lifted. He soars into the sky, and when he gets over his initial fear, he sort of starts to enjoy it. He lets out a delighted whoop, and the fairies giggle at him. He chooses not to care. The last two days have been nothing but one long string of spectacularly bad luck. He can take a moment to feel not quite so hopeless.

The Sea of Storms is a blur beneath him at the speed they’re going. Before long, the sea is left behind altogether. It gives way for sandy shores, which in turn give way for woods. Then what must be the Camelot Citadel appears between the trees. It must have been beautiful once, all polished white stone, but it has grown over with dark vines, and dark clouds hover over it.

The fairies fly him into the courtyard, and lower him onto a balcony. They vanish in the blink of an eye, leaving him on his own. He can see between the pillars of the balcony’s balustrade into the courtyard below. Morgana stands with her back to him, supervising the piling of wood. Merlin’s stomach twists. Whatever she plans on using a bonfire for, it can’t be good.

He finds the doors behind him unlocked, and he slips inside a bedchamber. It is covered in dust, and a big four poster bed dominates the space. It must have been King Uther’s before he died. 

Merlin finds the doors, and pokes his head cautiously into the hall. He doesn’t find any mouse guards standing at attention, so he steps out. Morgana clearly thought there was no reason to guard an empty room. This is where Merlin’s ides run out. His friends are likely being kept in the dungeons, but Merlin hasn’t the faintest idea where that would be. 

He creeps to the closest set of stairs, and jogs down them. His footsteps echo overloud in the silence of the castle, and he makes an effort to tread more lightly. The further down he goes, the more he notices the increase of guards. Where there’s smoke, there’s fire.

 _Please don’t notice me_ , he begs silently and slips slowly down another staircase. He knows he’s hit jackpot when he sees a collection of guards dicing at a table. They looks as though they’ve been set up there for a while. Whatever they’re guarding, it requires long term watch. 

He steps off the last step, but his foot catches against a chunk of stone that must have come loose. It clatters across the floor, drawing the attention of every guard. Merlin straightens to his full height, and tries to sound authoritative when he says, “Queen Morgana requests your presence.”

_Believe me._

A mouse squints at him suspiciously.

“Don’t give me that look,” Merlin snaps, “I’m just the messenger. It’s on your own head of you don’t go to her. She said something about turning you lot into house flies.”

The mice share a glance, then scramble up the stairs. Merlin slips the keys from one of their belts as they go. 

He crosses to the wooden door, and fumbles through a few of the keys before finding the one that fits the lock. He pulls the door open, grinning, expecting to find his friends waiting for him. The room stands empty. He takes a step inside, not ready to give up hope just yet. 

No secret passage reveals itself. He must have the wrong cell.

He groans in frustration. It took him this long just to find his way to the dungeons. If he has to try every door, there is a chance that he won’t find his friends in time to stop Morgana from doing whatever it is she’s doing. Though, come to think of it, they never did find Emrys. They may not even be able to defeat her as it stands now. Still, Elyan and Gwen need to return to the resistance forces if nothing else. He’s come this far, he isn’t going to abandon his friends now. 

He turns to leave, but a pull in his chest stops him. Morgana wouldn’t leave guards outside an empty room. He steps outside the cell, removes a torch from the wall, and reenters, holding it high above his head. The light doesn’t reach the opposite side of the wall.

It might be madness, but it’s all he has. He backs up a step, then swings the torch at the empty space in front of him with all his might. It crashes into something solid. There’s a massive shattering spell, and shards of magic crash to the floor like the shards of a mirror. On the other side stands Elyan, Gwen, and Arthur.

“Merlin!” Arthur shouts joyfully and charges forward to pull him into a one armed hug, “I thought we’d lost you.”

He hugs Arthur back, then leans away, “Morgana is building a bonfire.”

Gwen’s eyes widen, and she squeezes Elyan’s hand for support, “She was going to burn us.”

“Then we have no time to lose, we have to stop her before that happens.” Arthur says and pushes Merlin aside to lead the charge out of the dungeons.

It is incredibly obvious that Arthur knows the castle like the back of his hand. He creeps up the stairs, but rather than continue up the steps Merlin came down like Merlin would have, he hangs a hard right at the top of the stairs. It leads them through the armory, and Merlin snatches an extra sword off the wall. He’s never used a sword in his life, but he still feels better having something to defend himself with. Gwen reaches over silently while they’re walking and adjusts his grip.

Arthur comes to a stop on by the door that presumably leads out into the courtyard, and braces himself. He lifts his hand up to make some complicated military hand signal, frowns in annoyance when he realizes that it’s entirely useless with his hand still shaped like a mitt, and waves to get Elyan’s attention.

“On the count of three.” Arthur whispers as Elyan braces himself on the opposite side of the door, “One, two…”

On the count of three they throw open the door. A handful of mouse soldiers stand on the other side, and Arthur and Elyan take advantage of their surprise. The fight is quick and brutal. One mouse breaks through Arthur and Elyan’s defense, and comes for Gwen. She gets her sword up in time to prevent his blow from injuring her. Seeing an opening, Merlin jumps into the fray and clocks the mouse on the back of the head with the flat of the blade. The mouse crumbles to the floor like a sack of flour.

He and Gwen exchange a quick smile, and Merlin knows that even though he’s known Gwen for all of a day, he’s going to miss her when he goes home to Ealdor. They follow Arthur and Elyan into the courtyard, and come face to face with Morgana, bonfire blazing behind her.

“It ends here, Morgana!” Arthur shouts.

Queen Morgana grins that same bone chilling grin that Merlin remembers from the night in Gaius’s sitting room, “What? Don’t you like your party?”

“This is no way to rule.” Arthur says, advancing with his sword drawn, “You’ll never have their respect.”

“If there’s one thing father taught me, it’s that I don’t need their respect. You can rule perfectly well with fear. He did that well enough, didn’t he?”

“Even he wouldn’t stoop this low.”

“You just don’t like that now it’s your kind facing the pyre.” Morgana snaps, losing some of the coldness and letting some genuine anger bleed through.

Arthur lowers his sword a little, “Morgana, you know how hard I tried to stop him, even before I knew how truly cruel he was.” 

“You never learned to trust magic, Arthur. You would have been just as bad as him.” Morgana snarls, and then the serene slightly mad smile returns to her face, “No matter. I rounded up what few supporters you had. They’ll all be here to witness your defeat.”

As if on cue, a door on the opposite side of the courtyard swings open and a few mouse soldiers march a line of people from the room beyond. Merlin recognizes most of them, all of them were there at the treetop base. He even spots little Mordred somewhere in the middle of the line. 

“Leave them out of this!” Arthur shouts.

“I thought I had dealt with you when I turned you into a nutcracker, but you’ve always been more stubborn than me. You can’t defeat me, I am not destined to die by your hand.”

That is the final straw for Arthur. He launches himself across the courtyard at Morgana, already swinging. Morgana twirls her scepter in her hand and it transforms into the same axe as before. She blocks Arthur’s blow easily, and he ducks as she swings for his head. She lets out a shriek of irritation and lunges for him again. 

Arthur knocks her axe out of the way, and darts back from her. Merlin swears Arthur grows more limber by the moment. Something about the proximity to Morgana’s magic must be affecting the curse, and Merlin is absurdly grateful for it. Arthur thrusts his sword and Morgana dodges a moment too late. She doesn’t get run through, but she does get a deep enough gash in her side that it rips the fabric of her robes.

“Enough!” she shouts, and her eyes flare gold. She chants in a language that Merlin doesn’t understand consciously, but makes sense to him deep in his soul, and he isn’t surprised when she stretches to suddenly tower over Arthur’s head.

She swings her axe at him and catches him with the center of the blade. It doesn’t cut into him at all, more like a cricket bat than axe, but it sends Arthur flying. He crashes against the edge of the pyre, arms and legs akimbo. 

“No!” Merlin shouts before he can really think of what he’s doing and darts across the courtyard.

He drops to his knees next to Arthur just as Morgana leans in and sneers, “I’ll give you two choice, Dear Brother, dismemberment or barbeque.” 

Merlin turns his head away from Arthur, feeling that warmth inside him grow hot. He glares at Morgana and slowly gets to his feet, even as she regards him like a particularly fascinating insect. The burning grows so hot he is certain he could burn Morgana to the ground with the strength of his glare.

“You should not have done that.” Merlin growls.

Morgana scoffs and raises her scepter, “When I shrank you, I obviously didn’t make your mouth small enough. You’re incredibly irritating.”

The swirling red light bursts from her scepter, heading straight for Merlin. He braces himself, knowing deep in his soul that her magic will flow off him like water from a duck’s back. He doesn’t get a chance to test his theory. A ragged voice shouts “No!” and suddenly Arthur’s blade comes up between Merlin and the beam of Morgana’s magic. The magic hits the blade and ricochets off, rebounding right into Morgana. She lets out an ear-splitting cry and claws at the air, but it’s no use. She shrinks and shrinks until she is the size of a mouse, if they had proportionally sized mice in Camelot. Her scepter rolls away from her, useless now that it isn’t channeling her magic. Merlin keeps track of her long enough once the spell ends to see her disappear into a grate in the courtyard. 

Around them, the mice slump over dead. Their bodes vanish in a swirl of red light, and Merlin has to wonder just how many people the mouse kingdom lost to Morgana’s lust for power. He hears a groan behind him, and with a jolt he remembers Arthur.

He’s on his knees, cradling Arthur’s wooden head in his lap in half a heartbeat, “You’re going to be alright.”

“Merlin,” Arthur says breathlessly and when he smiles he doesn’t look so wooden anymore, “don’t worry about me. I’m just a hunk of wood, remember?”

“Don’t be a clotpole. We both know you’re more than that.” Merlin snaps.

Arthur chuckles, clutching at Merlin’s shoulder, “Never did learn how to address me properly.”

“Then you have to stay around and teach me.”

“Sorry, don’t know if that’s possible.”

“Shut up, you’ll be just fine.” Merlin says and presses a kiss to Arthur’s forehead, “You’ll be fine, Arthur.”

Arthur is surrounded by blue light. It spreads from the point of Merlin’s kiss, down his legs, and out his arms. It swirls and sparkles, and as Merlin watches, the subtle changes he noticed before begin to accelerate. Arthur’s arms lengthen, and his mitts give way to fingers. His legs lengthen, develop muscles, he gets proper feet with proper boots. His face, once wooden and only expressive in his eyes, gives way to a face with a strong jaw and a noble nose, and a slightly crooked smile.

All around people gasp and murmurs to each other about Prince Arthur. Merlin hears Gwen’s voice above the rest, delightedly shouting Arthur’s name. 

Arthur sits up, miraculously unharmed. The golden dragon on his surcot gleams.

Merlin grins at him, and rocks back on his heels so he can stand. Arthur takes it, and Merlin hauls him to his feet. Arthur grins back, crooked and delighted. For a moment, they share air, and Merlin feels that same fluttery feeling he had back in the orchard. 

The warmth growing in his chest flares outward along his body, and he takes half a step away from Arthur in his confusion. He looks down at himself, and watches fascinated as his [his clothes change.](https://umikochannart.tumblr.com/post/187640970622/finished-merthur-commission-for-maikonoyume-on) His sweater darkens, and changes shape, extending down to just above his knees, and belting tight at his waist. It develops a hood, and a matching golden dragon appears on the sleeves, the whole thing trimmed with gold thread. His trousers, ones he stole from Will when they developed a hole and he had his mother tailor to fit, darken as well and the fabric changes to something far finer than he could ever afford. His formerly bare feet are suddenly encased in flexible leather boots.

“It was you.” Arthur says, and Merlin glances up, “All this time, it was you.”

“What do you mean it was me?”

“Merlin, you’re Emrys.”

Merlin snorts, “I arrived in Camelot yesterday. I couldn’t possibly be Emrys.”

“Think about it.” Arthur insists and takes Merlin’s hands in his, “You saved me from Morgana in your parlor, and distracted her in a vital moment just now. Ever since you arrived, the fairies have been drawn to you. You found us when Morgana had us locked in her cell even though her magic should have been so strong that you couldn’t know it was there. Every moment I was with you, I could feel her curse lifting, and your kiss broke the spell completely. How else would you explain our good luck? Gwen not falling, Hengroen arriving in time to carry us to the Isle of the Blessed, and you not getting captured in the trap?” 

“The voice.” Merlin blurts suddenly remembering, “On the Isle of the Blessed there was a voice in the wind. It was welcoming me.”

One of Arthur’s hands slides from Merlin’s and cups his face, “You’re Emrys.”

Someone shouts, “Look!”

Merlin and Arthur both look up, watching the dark storm clouds over the castle recede. The vines entangling everything vanish into thin air. The pyre behind them goes out, and the kindling vanishes just as the vines did. The chains keeping the members of the resistance burst into golden light and vanish as well.”

“You’ve broken all of Morgana’s enchantments.” Arthur murmurs, still grinning.

Merlin bumps noses with him, still grinning as well, “And now you can take your rightful place as king.”

“That, is for the people to decide.”

“Arthur!” Gwen’s voice rings out, and Arthur manages to turn around just in time to catch her as she wraps him in a hug.

Arthur buries his face in her hair, and hugs her back. Obviously they have known each other for a long time. Arthur doesn’t strike Merlin as someone who falls into physical contact easily. He watches them with a fond smile, pleased that Arthur has a friend to rely on that isn’t just Merlin himself. He’s going to need all the support he can get when he rules.

“I’m so sorry.” Arthur whispers.

Gwen steps back, and smiles at him proudly, “You have nothing to be sorry for. I’m just happy to have you back. Lancelot and I have missed you.”

“I missed you as well. I was so relieved when you said you married.”

She slips her hand into his and turns to face the crowd, still smiling proudly, “Three cheers for Prince Arthur!”

The people in the courtyard let out resounding cheers and jostle one another with relief. A shower of snowflakes and flower petals drop over their heads, and when Merlin looks, the fairies have returned. He beckons one closer, and leans in.

“Think you could do me a favor?”

“Anything for the great Emrys.”

*

Torches illuminate the entirety of the citadel. The courtyard has the brightest of them all, casting the whole thing in a warm, orange glow. Long tables stretch along the edges, covered in fruit and vegetables. It isn’t the typical fare for a feast, but it will take a little while for the livestock of Camelot to replenish enough to be used for feasts. It is only thanks to the fairies they have any of it, including the people who had long since gone into hiding to avoid Morgana. 

The sun has long since set, but there isn’t a chill in the air like there was the first night Merlin stayed in Camelot. He sips the wine Gwen handed him before swept off into the dancing with her husband Lancelot. Arthur hasn’t stopped dancing since the festivities began. Apparently the people have taken to him like a house on fire. His defeat of Morgana endeared him to them, and his determination for justice made them all fall in love. Merlin is nearly as proud as Gwen.

As if reading his mind, Arthur appears in front of him, smiling and flushed from activity. His hair is a little sweaty, sticking to his forehead, and it shines in the torch light. He holds his hand out to Merlin.

“Are you asking me to dance?” Merlin asks, chuckling a little.

Arthur rolls his eyes playfully, “You’re the one who claimed you didn’t have wood for brains, Merlin.”

“What do you think the chances are of us getting interrupted by a rock giant this time?”

Arthur tilts his head, clearly exasperated, and Merlin snorts and sets aside his drink in favor of taking Arthur’s hand. It is warm in his, and Merlin can feel the calluses Arthur must have developed from years of training with a sword. The music slows as they step out into the dance area, and the crowd shuffles to the edges of the courtyard, leaving just the two of them standing there. Merlin raises his eyebrows at Arthur, but Arthur just rolls his eyes and [spins Merlin away from him.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qKkSDBV3_Tw)

Merlin finds himself rising to his toes without his permission, and he sends an accusatory glare to the few fairies who bothered to stay for the celebration. They turn their heads away and hide their laughter behind their hands. Of course they decide Merlin is going to dance some ridiculous courtly dance when his only dance experience has been the reels at the local gatherings. He’s going to have to have a word with the fairies about it eventually.

He moves on graceful tiptoe to Arthur, who is already there to offer his arm for support when Merlin wobbles. Arthur steps gracefully to his feet, and leads Merlin in a delicate turn; strong and steady. They separate for a moment, and Arthur proves how high he can jump, and Merlin has to bite his lip to keep from snorting at the ridiculousness. Eventually the steps lead them back together, and Arthur’s hands find his waist, and he lifts Merlin in the air as though he weighs no more than a child.

As they dance, Merlin can feels his magic flowing from him. It seeps into the stones of the courtyard, sinks down, down, down into the earth itself. It courses across the land, sweeping away the remains of Morgana’s enchantments, and allowing it to heal. The feeling he got in his bones when he first stepped into the forest where they met Gwen and Elyan magnifies over and over until he feels as though he might become one with the earth itself.

Then Arthur’s hands are on him once more, grounding him and guiding him through the next steps of the dance. Merlin finds himself grinning, not quite as deliriously giddy as those times he danced with the fairies, but pleased all the same. A few more steps, and the dance ends with Merlin tucked safely into Arthur’s arms.

The crowd erupts into cheers, and Merlin ducks his head at the attention. He isn’t embarrassed, not really, just unused to so many eyes being on him at one time. Next to him, Arthur’s head is thrown back with laughter, his joy an almost tangible thing in the air. Merlin bumps his shoulder playfully against Arthur’s, and Arthur’s laughter fades into a chuckle as he smiles fondly at Merlin.

“I couldn’t have done this without you, you know.”

“I think you would have found a way.” Merlin dismisses.

“I’m serious, Merlin. You have been at my side throughout the hardest fight I’ve ever been in, and without you, I don’t know if I could have defeated Morgana. Take the credit.”

“That’s not why I did it.”

“I know.” Arthur says solemnly, “You did it, at first, because you wanted to return home, but I hope that I’m right when I say that changed, that you started doing it for me and the people.”

“You became my friend.” Merlin answers.

“So stay.”

“What?”

“I’m not saying we get married or anything.” Arthur says quickly, eyes darting around a little panicked, “Not that I don’t think you’re attractive, or that I do. I uh… we work well together, is what I mean to say, and I would very much appreciate it if you stayed. At least for a while.”

Merlin toys with the chain to the locket hidden beneath his clothes, “I feel more myself here than I ever did at Ealdor.”

“Does that mean you’ll stay?”

“Yeah,” Merlin grins, “it means I’ll stay.” Then he leans up and presses a kiss to Arthur’s mouth.

“Long Live the King!” someone shouts. Suddenly there’s a chorus of “Long Live the King!” and a couple of the flower fairies appear, bearing with them a crown made of flowers. They settle it on Arthur’s head, and dart away. Merlin touches it with just his fingertips, and suddenly the whole thing is cast in gold.

“Think the people made their decision.” Merlin murmurs.

There’s a peculiar sound then, and everyone glances around wildly for the source. Merlin is the one to spot it first, but by then it’s too late. Morgana, still shrunken to the size of a mouse swoops in on the back of the same smarmy bat that Merlin heard on the Isle of the Blessed. They dive for him, and he gets his arm up to protect his face, but it leaves the chain to the locket exposed.

Morgana grabs it in one tiny fist, and hisses, “I just despise happy endings.”

With a yank, the chain comes loose, and the bat swoops away into the sky, Morgana clutching the locket. Before Merlin can do anything about it, Morgana digs her fingers into the latch of the locket and pulls it open. The effect is instantaneous. Merlin can feel his roots in the land dissolving, and when he looks his body has started to go translucent.

With one last push of magic, he hurls a spell at Morgana. It strikes her and the bat, and the both let out a yowl of pain, then explode in a shower of black ash. 

“Merlin!” Arthur’s voice rings loud and worried in front of him, but Arthur’s fingers slip right through his arm as he tries to hold on. He smiles one last time, then his connection to the world vanishes, and everything goes black.

*

The clock chimes ten, and Merlin sits bolt upright, shouting, “Arthur!”

He glances over to the table where he left the nutcracker the night before, but it’s gone. He pats his chest, checking his clothes. He’s wearing the same sweater he went to sleep in last night. The locket has vanished as mysteriously as his nutcracker.

“About time you got up, Merlin,” Gaius says, shuffling into the sitting room with one disapproving eyebrow raised high, “even Gwaine got up before you.”

“Have you seen my nutcracker?” Merlin asks, sliding to the floor to check under the sofa.

“I’m afraid not.” 

Will wanders in after that, clutching a mug of something warm. He still looks half asleep, but it could all be an act. Will has been pranking Merlin since they were old enough to know what a prank was. 

“You haven’t taken my nutcracker have you?” Merlin asks, still kneeling on the floor.

Will shakes his head, “Nah. I know better than to mess with your collection after you bit me.”

“We were ten.” Merlin points out defensively.

His mother wanders in next, but cuts him off before he can even open his mouth to ask the question, “I’m afraid I haven’t seen it either, Love, but I’m sure it will turn up.”

The door to Gaius’s house opens, and Merlin can hear the sound of Gwaine’s voice drifting down the hall. It is followed by a second voice. It’s familiar, though Merlin can’t place why it does until Gwaine comes around the corner, proclaiming, “And this is my family.”

Behind him stands Arthur. Granted Arthur is neither in chainmail and surcot, nor crown. He wears a nicely tailored waistcoat, and a jacket. His hair is styled neatly instead of left to blow about as he dances or fights, but it’s him. There’s no mistaking that nose or those eyes. It’s Arthur. Arthur is standing in Gaius’s sitting room.

“Merlin, Will, Aunt Hunith, Gaius,” Gwaine says, carrying on with the introductions like he hasn’t just flipped Merlin’s world upside down, “this is Arthur. We went to University together.”

Merlin takes a stumbling step forward, but stops before he can do something silly like throw himself into Arthur’s arms and babble about how relieved he is that Arthur is safe. Arthur’s gaze flicks to him, but his expression is unreadable. Merlin has no idea if Arthur experienced what he did last night.

“It’s very nice to meet you.” Arthur says stiffly, and takes Merlin’s hand to press a kiss to the back of it.

“Such familiarity.” Gaius grumbles.

“I invited Arthur to stay for Christmas supper.” Gwaine interrupts before Gaius can start sternly lecturing about something.

Gaius turns to Gwaine, clearly affronted, “That is—”

“A great idea!” Merlin blurts.

Will squints between them suspiciously, and gets that mulish look on his face that means he’s planning on interrogating whoever it is that Merlin fancies.

“I suppose we have enough.” Gaius sighs, clearly sensing the defeat in the air. 

Gwaine shoots a teasing grin in Merlin’s direction, then starts guiding Gaius towards the kitchen. Will moves like he’s planning on challenging Arthur to a duel right then and there, but Merlin’s mother steps in before he has a chance. She tugs him out of the room with far more force than Gwaine did with Gaius, and sends Merlin an amused look as she does.

Alone, Arthur turns to Merlin and says, “Hold out your hand.”

“Why?” Merlin asks suspiciously.

“Because I told you to.”

“Prat.” Merlin mutters but holds out his hand. Arthur presses something cold and metallic into it, and when Merlin looks, it’s the locket he wore throughout his adventures in Camelot. It’s far too small now to fit around his neck, so he fastens it to his wrist.

Arthur’s smile is a little smug, “Thought you were free of me?”

“How are you here?” Merlin asks, “What about Camelot?”

“Camelot is safe enough until you can come back with me. As far as how I got here, that is a far more complicated tale.”

“How the hell do you know Gwaine?” 

Arthur rolls his eyes, “He saved my life in a bar brawl. I have no idea how he got to Camelot, but when my father banished him he must have returned here.”

“Then why does he think you went to university together?”

“His mind must have come up with a fiction to explain the memories.”

“But I remember everything.” Merlin protests.

Arthur raises his eyebrows like he thinks Merlin is thick, “You are magic itself.”

“You’re not magic.”

“But I was born of it. I’ll tell you that tale sometime as well.”

“I didn’t think I would ever see you again.” Merlin admits, “Hated it.”

“I do believe destiny or fate or whatever you call it is determined not to let that happen.” Arthur says, and Merlin swears he sees the eyes of the wooden dragon atop Gaius’s clock gleam, “What do you say? When the time is right, come back with me?”

“Well, I couldn’t say no to the king.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas, Merlin Fandom! Thank you all for embracing my fic this year. My pandemic experience would have been a lot more miserable without you. For those of you that don't celebrate Christmas, I hope you have a great non-holiday day as well.

**Author's Note:**

> Part two will go up tomorrow, so don't miss it. Also who knew that "Inspired by Barbie in the Nutcracker (2001)" was a tag? Not me!


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